Sweet

She’s like 23 months pregnant and the little gal in the oven just doesn’t want to come out.

While I’m sitting on a stool in the mall in a women’s clothing store, I realized I was bored. I had been sitting there for 74 minutes waiting on my queen to try on some clothes and decided to send my daughter a short note to see how she was (her due date has passed).

And I got the sweetest message back: “I lost my mucus plug.”

Hmmmm. Was this an appeal to
a) help her find it?
b) be appropriately saddened at the lost, or
c) a good thing?

Having been through this before — admittedly my most current experience with it goes back more than 25 years — I chose “c” as the correct answer.

At that point, as I ruminated on said mucus plug, I realized that I didn’t know what one looked like. “Mucus” doesn’t conjure up the most pleasant image and “plug” made me think of those black rubber stoppers I once used in chemistry lab to create a vacuum in glass flasks. The two images didn’t seem to blend well. I decided that it didn’t really matter and that I really didn’t want to see one anyway.

I’m simply happy that my daughter
a) had one
b) lost it, and
c) was excited